


Rust

by yaboi_deicide



Series: a numbing pain [1]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Implied Relationships, Might be AU, POV Experimental, Uncertain timeline, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 05:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8477665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaboi_deicide/pseuds/yaboi_deicide
Summary: something went wrong along the way





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just felt like writing a more descriptive piece on perspectives. Hmmm hand wavey timeline, probably an au or bad ending timeline idk man this isn’t meant to be super canon or whatevs. More warnings at the end notes
> 
> this was really just went for a writing block/experimental style kind of because i can't focus on stuff properly rn and i needed an outlet

You spy his figure out off the corner of your eye. The teacup slips from your hand and crashes against the tiled floor, warm tea splashing against your heels. Hurriedly, you crouch and begin picking up the broken pieces. Drops of tea cling to the creamy surface of the ceramic and slowly drip into your cupped hand. Behind you, Jumin is silent. Easily, you pick up the soft thuds of his approaching footsteps. A blanket of oppressiveness settles, growing heavier with each quiet step. Involuntarily, your hand freezes mid-grab. Slowly, it lowers until it lies limply by your side. A trickle of cold sweat slithers down the back of your neck, quietly slipping down your spine. His feet stop next to you. Head bent, you lower your head further until it’s tucked against your chest. There’s a large piece of ceramic next to the matte black of his shoes. It’s the last piece. Your hand is inches away.

The sickly pallor of your hand blends into the clinical white of the floor tiles and you see, rather than feel, the faint tremors you can't seem to stop. There’s a drop of rust-coloured tea, stark against the cream of the broken shard. It slides slowly down the curve of the piece. The tea pooling in the palm of your cupped hand has grown tepid, mixing with the sweat staining your hands. Your mind begs your hand to move. It doesn’t, it can't. Jumin doesn’t.

Your neck hurts, bent like this—muscles hard and tense. Jumin’s feet turn towards you and shift back, one step, two steps. He crouches, pale fingers reaching out for the last piece. Gingerly, with the tips of his index and thumb fingers, he picks it up. His other hand reaches for you, wraps around your limp hand like a shackle. You flinch back but the restraint tightens and your hand goes limp, wilted. Turning your hand, Jumin drops the last piece into your damp palm.

“You're very careless,” he says, considering, slowly curling your fingers over the sharp edges. “You should learn to be more careful.”

His hand rests heavily on the curve of your shoulder. It’s the most he’s touched you since you’ve come here. Your gaze remains fixated on the splatter of tea on the floor, away from him, from his face.

“Just let the maids clean up next time,” finally, he stands and leaves, footsteps fading away. The weight of his hand remains. Your cupped hand trembles once, twice and turns slowly. The gathered pieces fall to the floor as your watch silently. A sharp pain lances through your right hand. Blood drips from the clenched fist and splatters against the floor. Slowly, the red creeps into the drops of tea. You unclench your fist.

The bloody ceramic shatters further.

**Author's Note:**

> Implied emotionally unhealthy relationships, implied juminxmc (gone wrong eh), implied possibly emotionally abusive relationship from MC’s pov


End file.
